


Heroes

by SoftGrungeFairy



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types
Genre: Cults, F/F, Gen, I promise, It's gonna look like it's Jason/Oc, My oc is a lesbian, Mystery, Not the main story, Original Character(s), also jason todd is queer and you know it, and gagsters, but it's not, it's wlw/mlm solidarity friendship, oh my, that boy needs a friend, the F/F will be a minor thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-27 02:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15675867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftGrungeFairy/pseuds/SoftGrungeFairy
Summary: In the six months following the detonation of a chemical weapon in Gotham and the death of Batman, things are starting to get back to normal. Deborah Jones is new in town and doing research for her new mystery novel. However when she runs into a vigilante her research gets a little too close, and it gets worse when she accidentally uncovers a new cult led by the charming and terrifying Deacon Blackfire. Deborah will have to use all of her wits to survive new friends and old enemies.





	1. Bashert

**Author's Note:**

> This fic follows Arkham Knight, but with some changes. Mostly I include a lot more characters from the comics. So here’s a quick run down of the characters that will be included. Dick Grayson will be 26 and Nightwing, but will be active in Gotham. After Arkham Knight, as Bruce’s legal heir, Dick inherited Wayne Enterprises. Tim Drake 18 and will become Red Robin following Bruce’s death, because a new Robin will come into the picture. About six months previous to Knight in this, a young boy of 12 will show up at Wayne Manor saying he finally found his way there after the death of his mother Talia, and that he is Bruce’s son. Damien will not be allowed to become robin immediately, as Bruce knows he is ill and does not think Damien is old enough. Damien had been trying to convince him to let him help him when Bruce died. Dick believes that Damien training to be a robin will help him move on from his father’s death, and he also becomes his legal guardian. Barbra Gordon in this will be 29, and instead of having a relationship with Tim, she will be in engaged to Dick Grayson, and she will still be Oracle. Jason Todd is 23 at the beginning of the fic and has become the Red Hood. I’m also incorporating some of his comic persona in this with his activity as gang leader, but that will be revealed more later. Dick and the rest of the bat family don’t like that he kills people, but Dick feels the first priority is to convince him come back to the family and then go from there. Other characters that will be making appearances will be Kate Kane (34), Stephanie Brown (18), Duke Thomas (16), Cassandra Cain (17), and Harper Row (18). However, not all of them will be vigilantes at the start of the story. Hope this makes things clear, enjoy the story!

Gotham was noisy. It took a few weeks for Deborah to get used to the constant noise. People rushing all around everywhere, all times of night, it was relentless. It had been a shock to Deborah’s system, moving from the small English town she had lived in the past few years to one of the largest cities in the United States. But Ruth, her agent, had said that the move would provide her with more career opportunities, so here she was. Even late as it was it was still loud. Deborah sat alone in shiny red booth in a 50’s style diner. There were no other patrons in the restaurant, but that was hardly surprising given that it was two in the morning. Deborah, in the month since moving to Gotham, had developed a habit of frequenting this diner, Suzie’s, in early hours of the morning. Deborah had always had problems sleeping, and had always gravitated to small hole in the walls, so the 24-hour diner next door to her building had been a major selling point when she had found her apartment. It was a warm diner, owned by a friendly old couple and managed by their middle daughter, Alice. Their youngest daughter, Marie, worked the overnight shift and was the employee Deborah so the most of.   
“I’d ask if you wanted more coffee but that would be against my professional medical advice.”  
Deborah looked up at the tall girl and smiled wryly, “You just got into medical school, talk to me again in… how many years?”  
She turned on her heel and walked away with a huff, her dark curly hair floating behind her. Deborah stared somewhat glumly at her mostly empty coffee cup before turning back to her computer. The book she was working on was off to a slow start, it had been a while since she last wrote and she was rusty. She groaned and closed her laptop. Marie was standing at the counter deliberately not looking at her while wiping away at some microscopic dust.  
“Marie.” Deborah called, testing the waters.  
No answer.  
“I’m sorry, you’re gonna be a great doctor.”  
Deborah was rewarded with a glance and nothing more.  
“And I won’t order any more coffee tonight.”  
Marie finally turned and leaned back against the counter, “What do you want?”  
“Fries and a milkshake.”   
Marie groaned, “You’re gonna be dead by the time I’m a doctor.”  
Marie reluctantly turned to go back into the kitchens, grumbling the whole way. Deborah had begun packing up her laptop when what seemed to be a person flew through the front door, glass flying everywhere. Deborah threw herself underneath the table and she heard Marie scream in the kitchen and Lou, the cook, shout something. From her limited view Deborah could see what looked like steel toed boots attached to legs in dark pants, and she could hear labored breathing as the person in the boots struggled to get up. The breathing sounded off, like something was wrong. Deborah heard more people walk into the diner, stepping on glass on their way in, one that sounded like a man laughed.  
The laughing man, who sounded like he was in the front of the group, growled out, “You’ve got nowhere to go Red, seems to me like you’re out of options.”  
The man on the ground, Red, let out a gasping laugh that sounded distorted through his helmet, “I’m never out of options.”   
The men, you could see there were three besides the man on the ground stood in front of the man with their backs to you. The man struggled up onto one knee and you could now see he wore a black leather jacket with a red hood over what looked like a black Kevlar shirt with a red emblem emblazed on the chest. On his head was some sort of glass helmet that had different lights flashing on it like those on a computer screen. Many of the lights were a darker shade of red than the helmet. It was in that moment that his head lifted just a little, and while she couldn’t see his face, it seemed he caught sight of Deborah. His head turned a little and Deborah saw Marie peeking out the door to the kitchen, a terrified look on her face. The men evidently noticed her too because one of the silent ones yelled, “Get back in the kitchen little girl!”  
Marie scampered back and the kitchen door swung a bit where she had abandoned it so quickly. The man in the helmet took the brief moment of distraction to throw himself upwards, hitting the man in front with a brutal upper cut and turning before Deborah could blink to bring his fist back down into the side of the jaw of the man next to him. That same downward momentum threw the man in the helmet back down to his knees and the last man standing fumbled for something under his coat, on his belt. Before Deborah could second guess herself she ripped her Taser from her purse and jumped out from under the table and jabbed it into the side of the last man standing. The man convulsed for a moment before collapsing next to the other two men. There was a moment of quiet where Deborah could here the helmeted man’s off-sounding breathing before he collapsed.   
Deborah let out a breath and looked at the disaster around her, “Fuck.”  
Deborah turned when she heard Marie creep out of the kitchen followed by Lou with a baseball bat at the ready. Marie approached cautiously, her dark eyes wide. Her voice was quiet with awe when she finally spoke, “Holy shit, it’s one of them.”  
“One of who?” Deborah asked.  
“One of the heroes.” Lou murmured, lowering the bat.  
“A hero that may or may not have a punctured lung. Should we call an ambulance or something? What are the rules here?” Deborah remarked.   
“No they can’t find out his secret identity!” Marie burst out of her shock and leapt into action, “Lou, help me carry him? Deb, can we use your apartment?”  
“My apartment for what?”  
“We need to treat him.”  
“Are we really qualified for this? What if he dies? How do we explain all this to the cops?” Deborah asked, increasingly concerned about this plan.  
“Good point, Deborah you help Lou get him to your apartment. I’ll call the cops and Lou, come in through the back when you get back. He should be okay till I get there.”  
“Should be?” Deborah’s voice was a little shrill even to her own ears.   
“I’ll be there as soon as I finish up with the cops. He’s still breathing even if it does sound a little funny, so it’s probably only a small puncture. I’m more worried about that arm.”  
Deborah looked at the arm the man hadn’t used to beat the lights out of two men, and noticed it was hanging in an odd way, probably dislocated. Deborah felt a little ill. Lou handed the bat to Marie and took the man hold of the man’s torso, careful of the injured arm, with the confidence of a man who had done this before. Deborah didn’t know what to make of that. Deborah swung her laptop bag and purse over her shoulder and picked up the man’s legs by the ankles. In tandem she and Lou lifted. Deborah grunted, “Geez he’s heavy.”  
“It’s the weight of responsibility he carries protecting this city. Hurry, I’m calling the police and he shouldn’t be here when they get here.”  
“This feels illegal.” Deborah commented on their way out the now empty space where the door used to be, Lou simply huffed out a laugh.   
The short walk from the diner up to her apartment seemed to take an hour. They had just set the man on the couch in Deborah’s fifth floor apartment when the police arrived at the diner. Lou turned to Deborah and asked, “I have to head back to the diner, have you ever relocated someone’s limb back in a socket?”  
“No Lou, I can’t say I have.”  
Lou let out a long sigh at the inconvenience and set about laying the man flat on the ground and slowly pulling his arm until his arm popped back into place. After, Lou turning to Deborah and saying, “Make sure to keep ice on his shoulder, less swelling is always better.”   
With that Lou left Deborah in her apartment with a man who was possibly a hero and definitely scary. Deborah just stood for a moment, taking a moment to accept where she was. She counted down in her head from five, took a breath, and got a pack of ice and a dishcloth for the injured man now lying on the floor of her living room. She told herself that she had come to Gotham to do research for her crime novel, and she supposed this was a great way to get some first hand experience. The breathing coming from the helmet still sounded off, but seemed a little better than before. Deborah was unsure about how to proceed. Did she wait with him until he woke up? Did she give him space? It was then she noticed the guns holstered underneath the leather jacket he wore. Deborah didn’t know how he would react when he woke up, and figured it would be safest to remove the guns. She crept forward, careful not to disturb the heavily armed man, and grabbed hold of the first gun. A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her wrist. He raised his injured arm to grab her but let out a grunt when he tried.  
“You were injured in a fight.” Deborah quickly explained, “You got hurt in a diner, do you remember?”  
The hand stayed locked on her wrist, but he seemed to suddenly recall why his arm hurt and why he was having trouble breathing. Everything was very still for what was likely only a minute but felt like much longer. Slowly, while moving her wrist away from his gun, his grip slackened and she was able to pull it back. Deborah rubbed the red spot left by his hand and he laid still.  
“Where am I?” He said, his voice sounding slightly hoarse.   
“You’re in my apartment, I live next door to Suzie’s, that’s the diner, and we figured it would be best that you weren’t still splayed on the floor when the cops showed up.”  
“We?”  
“Oh yeah. Me, Marie, and Lou. Marie and Lou both work at Suzie’s. Marie just got into med school and said she thinks you may have a small puncture in your lung and also your arm was dislocated. Lou fixed your arm, that ‘s what the ice is for, and Marie said you should lay flat until she comes to check you out. She’s not a doctor yet but she’s really smart and can probably help.” Deborah was aware she was rambling, but didn’t really know the proper bedside manner for an injured vigilante lying on the floor of your living room.  
“It is punctured, but I don’t think it’s bad.”  
The man started to get up and Deborah tried to stop him, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”   
The man pushed away her hands, “I thought your friend was the one in med school?.”  
He barely stood before collapsing onto Deborah’s floral couch with a grunt, “You missed my sprained ankle.”   
Deborah huffed, “I’ll get more ice.”  
Deborah rushed off to her kitchen for more ice, and by the time she came back the man had settled with his injured foot on her coffee table. Deborah handed him the ice and he settled it on his ankle before leaning back. His posture seemed relaxed, but Deborah noticed that his hands stayed near his holsters. Deborah settled on a chair cattycorner to the table with her feet tucked under her, she hoped her more relaxed position would calm him some.  
“So mysterious man who gets thrown through doors, do you have a name?”  
The man’s head tilted a bit and he simply said, “Yes.”  
“Well Yes, odd name, but it’s nice to meet you. I’m Deborah.”  
The man’s head rolled back onto the back of the couch and he groaned.  
“You know that’s all I’m gonna call you from here on out right?” Deborah joked.  
“With any luck you won’t be calling me anything after tonight.”  
Deborah thought for a minute, “Is there anyone I should call? Do you have a way to get to whatever hole you call a home?”  
The man was silent for another moment, “I’ll be fine, and out of your hair soon.”  
As if to further discourage the man, at that moment flakes of snow started to fall outside. Deborah glanced between the window, the man, and his ankle.   
“You sure about that?” When he didn’t say anything Deborah continued, “It’s really no trouble for you to crash here. Just don’t wreck the place and don’t steal anything.”  
“You don’t know me. I could be a bad guy.”  
Deborah got up from her chair and grabbed a large afghan from a woven basket and handed it to the man on the couch.  
“Bad guys don’t risk their lives to fight gangsters.”   
The man took the offered blanket cautiously. He was silent for a moment while looking down at the blue and white yarn before murmuring, “Thank you.”  
“No problem. You should probably stay awake long enough for Marie to get here so she can look you over, make sure you’re not gonna die in you’re sleep or anything. Can I get you something to eat or drink?”  
Deborah looked at the mans helmet with some trepidation, and he seemed to think the same thing and simply said, “No, thank you.”  
It took another hour for Marie to get up to the apartment after dealing with the cops, making the calls needed to get the diner fixed up, and assuring her moms that everyone was fine. She looked over the man on the couch, who she called Red Hood, and pronounced he would survive. It was nearly dawn by the time she went home and Deborah left the vigilante on her couch to rest, looking very out of place on the floral couch and covered in bright afghan. He hadn’t taken off his helmet, and Deborah suspected once he was sure she was asleep he would. Deborah took one last look at the man before going to bed, certain it would not be the last time she saw him.


	2. Out of the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deborah and Marie decide a trip to the Cauldron is in order.

“Stand on the bar, stomp your feet, get clapping  
Got a real good feeling something bad about to happen”

Deborah wasn’t surprised to find the Red Hood gone when she woken up several hours later. The incident definitely stood out, but it was Gotham and Deborah had more immediate fish to fry.  
“Jones, I’ve been reviewing your notes and you don’t have shit. I’m sorry but it’s true. You’ve been in Gotham, Gotham of all places, and you can’t find any interesting and unsolved crimes to follow?” Deborah’s agent, Ruth, was agitated.   
Deborah couldn’t blame her. She didn’t have much and hadn’t had much for a while now. She was, in colloquial terms, in a rut. Deborah leaned back in her office chair and rubbed her eyes as she pulled the phone away from her ear a little.  
“Well, there was something that happened last night I could look into.” Deborah had hesitated to talk about the Red Hood; vigilantes were hard to track and notoriously surrounded themselves with dangerous people. Red Hood maybe most of all, but Deborah really didn’t have anything else to give Ruth, “I met a vigilante last night.”  
“What?” Deborah pulled the phone back from her ear again, “Why the fuck didn’t you open with that? Why are you not out right now like a god damn lady John Hinckley Jr. tracking this guy down?”  
“That’s in poor taste. Besides, how do you know it’s a guy?”   
“The point stands and an educated guess.”  
With that Ruth hung up. Deborah sighed and set her phone down on her desk. Ruth was a grumpy old lady who had seen and heard too much shit in her life to be bothered with silly things like patience. Normally Deborah like that about her, but normally Deborah was better at sticking to her schedules. Before coming to Gotham Deborah had done all the preliminary reading about the cities vigilantes and villains, but nothing had prepared her for actually experiencing it. Her first week in the city she went to the bank to set up a new account and got stuck in a hold up by a crew of Harvey Dent’s goons. It wasn’t that there wasn’t plenty of unsolved crimes or criminals at large; it was just that there weren’t any interesting ones. It was the same big players that the police tried to handle and that the vigilantes actually took care of, and the papers recycled the same stories like ad-libs. It was boring. Deborah wanted to write something exciting, and something based in truth. Deborah got up from her chair and grabbed her phone, stuffing it in her purse. The Red Hood was the newest vigilante to come to the scene, and local papers didn’t really know what to do with him. Sure he stopped bad guys, but he had his own gang that “protected people”. They claimed to be fighting for the little guy while they robbed the rich, but it’s hard to figure out where illegally obtained money is going. Beating the crap out of cops didn’t help their image with the majority of Gotham either, though from what Deborah had dug up all the cops they had targeted had histories of excessive violence, so she really couldn’t hold that against them. Deborah threw a brown faux-leather coat on and had just pulled her long, wavy brown hair out from under it when her doorbell rang. Deborah pulled the door open and revealed Marie standing in a sleek, wool coat on the other side, a chic and clean cut contrast to Deborah’s bohemian style. Marie held a plate of chocolate chip cookies covered in plastic wrap in her hands and thrust it towards Deborah.  
“My moms wanted me to say thanks for helping out with the whole vigilante thing.”  
Deborah took the plate and stepped aside, inviting Marie in. Marie stepped inside and cast a quick glance towards Deborah’s living room, likely remembering the strange events of the early morning. When she looked back at Deborah she seemed to realize that other woman had been about to leave.  
“Where are you going?”  
“The East End, I’ve been sticking to close to the Downtown area, but it’s hard to get really good research about seedy crime in neighborhoods where cops actually give a damn.”  
“It’s, like, six. By the time you get down there it’ll be dark.” Marie said, skeptical.  
“Yeah, that the point.” Marie pushed on, “If I want to get good information I need to be in the area where the crime happens when it might be happening. I’m gonna hang around some bars and see what I see.”  
“That’s a terrible plan.”  
“You know, next time my editor calls about my crap research for my book, I’ll tell her you said so.”  
Marie huffed and was silent for a moment. Eventually she turned to the coat rack next to the door and grabbed a burgundy scarf and black wide brimmed hat from off it and handed them to Deborah, “It’s cold you’ll want these. Hurry up, I want to get inside somewhere down there before it gets too late, and we’re not going to the Bowery.”  
“You’re not coming.”  
“Well you’re not going to the worst part of Gotham by yourself at night. Besides, I grew up in the Cauldron, I know the area.”  
Deborah sighed, “Fine.”  
The two women took the train to the East End; Marie said she knew a dive bar where a bunch or “professional types” went. The closer they got to the Cauldron, the less people there were. It was as if the whole city was trying to passive aggressively implying this was a stupid idea, but Deborah still didn’t have any better ones. Deborah’s parents had been true hippies, and had encouraged her to go out and explore all the different places and people this world had to offer. While she had seen beautiful places and met wonderful people, she had also seen the ugly side of the world. She had been in worse situations. She reminded herself of this while she fiddled with the hamsa she wore on a thin gold chain around her neck. Once out of the Downtown area there was a steady decline in the upkeep of the buildings around the train, and the some of the ones closest to their stop seemed to nearly be ruins. Marie noticed what Deborah was studying and explained, “Most of the funding for repairs after the attack on Halloween has gone to other parts of the city, and a lot of the people in charge consider the East End a lost cause.”  
“But people still live there!”  
“Well Deborah,” Marie said sarcastically, “they can simply move to a nicer part of the city.”  
Deborah scoffed and rolled her eyes, an action mirrored by Marie, “Tell me about it. It took my moms years to save up enough to move downtown, and they both had decent jobs. Plenty of people up here can’t get that. The police wonder why so many people either join gangs or rely on them. There aren’t a ton of other options. Gillian, Alice, and I were lucky we got scholarships, otherwise I would not be going to med school, you can be sure of that.”  
Deborah fell silent for the rest of the ride. As soon as they left the station Marie looped her arm through Deborah’s and pulled her close, their purses pushed up against each other in between the women. The neighborhood didn’t look any better on ground level. There was trash everywhere and over half the buildings looked boarded up, and the ones that weren’t looked in desperate need of renovations. There were few businesses; mostly pawnshops, bars, and small take out restaurants. A few small grocery stores and repair shops seemed to be struggling to stick it out. It was a short walk to the bar Marie knew, and as soon as the women turned a corner, Deborah could pick out the place they were going. It was the only place that didn’t seem like it was about to collapse with a bright yellow neon sign that stuck out over the door saying “Noonan’s Bar”. Classic rock could be heard inside, and a few people stood around outside talking in low voices. A few people spared the two women glances, but their arrival went mostly unnoticed. Most of the patrons inside were crowded into booths or standing around pool tables, a few played darts on the far side of the room. An old wooden bar was to the women’s right, and an even older man stood behind it. He was a burly and rough looking man with thinning salt and pepper hair and a thick but immaculately kept mustache. The deep lines that ran across his face only emphasized a deep frown. Deborah and Marie approached the bar, ordering two beers. The man eyed the women, then poured a single beer and set it in front of Marie. He turned to Deborah and asked, “Tell me something, do you really like beer?”  
“No,” Deborah confessed, “but it seemed like the right thing to order.”  
“What do you actually want to drink?”  
“Can you make The Last Word?”  
The man let out a guffaw and began to make the drink, “A girl after my own heart.” He set the drink down in front of Deborah and asked, “This is your first time in here, what brings you in?”  
Marie spoke up first, “I’m Gillian Vince’s little sister, she mentioned this place to me.”  
The man’s whole demeanor changed and he boomed, “You’re Gillian’s little sister? Welcome!”   
His loud voice and laughs didn’t seem to draw much attention, apparently the clientele were used to this. Though, Deborah thought, the personality didn’t seem to match the man or the bar. He glanced over at Deborah and grinned.  
“Am I not living up to your expectations?”  
“I had none. Marie, just mentioned this place to me tonight.”  
He turned back to Marie at that and asked, “Didn’t your folks move downtown? What brings you to this end?”  
“My friend Deborah,” Marie gestured to Deborah wit her beer and Deborah gave a little wave while sipping her drink, “is doing research for a book and wasn’t finding what she need downtown.”  
“You don’t say? You’re a writer? What do you write?”  
“Mysteries.” Deborah answered, setting her drink down, “I usually do historic fiction mysteries, but I’m trying my hand at modern crime thrillers. It is not going well.”  
“Aw why not?”  
“It’s easier to do research on crimes that have been solved for the past one hundred years.”   
The bartender laughed again, “I’ll bet. What’s the premise?”  
“Honestly I don’t have much of one yet. I was hoping to try and at least get some inspiration here.”  
Deborah looked around the bar a little despondently, unsure of how successful the night would be. The bartender wrapped his knuckles on the bar and said, “Oh now don’t get like that, you’re trying something new. That should always be commended. And you never know, it could go really well. Look at this place. When I first opened this bar it got bombed at least once a month by someone who still held a grudge. But I stuck it out,” the bartender leaned in and raised a single, tattooed finger, “I figured out who the problem was, I used some previously learned skills, and I took care of it. Now I’m an entrepreneur with a thriving business.”  
Deborah noticed his use of “who” rather than “what”, but decided not to comment on it. Besides, the bartender wasn’t done with his pep talk.  
“Now, what are your previous skills?”  
“I’m a published author, a skilled researcher, and I’m normally pretty good at talking to people.”  
“Okay, what’s your problem?”  
“Getting actual information about the criminal underground in this city. Every time I’ve tried to talk to people so far I either get ridiculous stories or I’m glared at or threatened.”  
“Well, you’ve already started towards your solution, you came here. Ahh,” The bartender thought a moment and looked out over the bar, “Alan, come here a minute will ya, your gonna loose that game anyway.”  
A man probably twice the size of Deborah chuckled and walked over. He had thin blonde hair and kind brown eyes; if it weren’t for his colossal size he wouldn’t have been all that intimidating. He spoke softly and asked, “What can I do for you Sean?” He glanced down at Deborah and Alice, “You two looking to hire?”  
“Hire?” Deborah asked.  
“Naw,” Sean, the bartender, said to Alan, “the little one here is a writer and she’s trying to do some research about the criminal activities going on in our fair city. She’s writing a mystery.” Sean turned back to Deborah and Alice, “Alan here is a real professional, done lots of work for a lot of big hitters, but he’s a freelancer so he can give you some unbiased opinions. That’s good for research, ain’t it?”  
Deborah couldn’t really believe this was happening, “Yeah, unbiased is better.”  
“What do you wanna know?” Alan asked, sitting down, “You want history or current events?”  
“Um, current events would be great. There’s a lot written about what was going on before the Halloween incident, but after a lot of the accurate information died away.”  
“That’s cause a lot of people died away.” Alan shook his head and Sean slung him a beer, “You know a lot of the people who stayed in the city during the evacuation were ordered to by their bosses. It was dirty business, threating families if they didn’t stay and bolster their numbers. Whole goddamn city turned into a turf war. They were kids, ya know. It was bad enough with the Bat and that goddamn army tearing up the city, but after that explosion went off…”   
Sean stopped and took a long drink of his beer, then sighed.  
“The bosses see, they got a heads up about what was gonna happen, so they take their top guys and get high up with a whole lotta supplies. Thing is, they couldn’t indicate to the others that they were heading to their holes, so all the street level guys had to stay, ya know, on street level. Lot of poor bastards died, lotta kids. It was a damn shame. The lady who lives down the hall from me, her son was fifteen. His friends had all joined and they wanted to get some new computer gadgets or something while all the cops were busy with the bigger fish. When that gas came up, his friends beat him to death.”   
Sean took another long sip from his beer before turning back to Deborah, “So, current events. Let me think. So uh, after Halloween things were kinda quiet for a while, respect for the fallen ya know? Most of the folks in East End at least knew someone who had lost someone. After Christmas though, it was like the timer had run out on it, and folks started acting up again. Black Mask especially, he was the first one to break that sorta unofficial truce, he started sending guns and men Penguin’s way. He’d just gotten out, and was more than willing to start up his old businesses again. No respect for the dead in that one. But then right before it starts getting real bad this new guy jumps in, name of Red Hood, you heard of him?”  
Deborah nodded slightly, wondering if it showed on her face she’d talked to him that morning, “A bit.”  
“Yeah so that guy, he wears the bat sign on his chest, but he shoots people. Like dead. And he gets a group of folks from around here together to help him out, starts trainin’ em’ up, trying to hunt down folks who stomped around on the people at the bottom. The whole Robin Hood thing, right?” Alan laughed to himself, “You think that’s where he got that name? Hah! That’s clever I like that.”  
Deborah chuckled along with him, willing him to not stop talking; this was the best information she’d gotten since she moved to this city.  
“Anyway where was I? Right, Black Mask. So Red Hood hears about what he’s been doing, and he’s been sticking to low-level stuff so far, mostly just training his guys up for neighborhood patrols, stuff like that. But his people have also been keeping their ears to the ground, that’s how he hears. And they go an’ run back and tell ‘im that Black Mask is selling weapons to Penguin, and that spells trouble for the folks here in the East End. People in the rest of Gotham always forget that all the really bad people start here and then work their way to the rest of the city. So Red Hood hears about him and systematically works his way through all of Black Masks high-level guys and finally throws old Sidonis out a window. Phew, kid has balls, if you’ll pardon me saying so ladies? Now he’s moved on to other big players, and not just the obvious ones you know? Some would say he’s moved on to the worse guys. The cops and the guys the cops won’t touch. I respect that. Hasn’t made him many friends though.”  
“Aren’t you at all worried?” Marie asked, enraptured by his story.  
“Me, oh no. See, Hood’s been leaving us freelancers alone. I think he must have used to been a professional like us. He gets it. I don’t do anything; the bad guys are the ones that hire me. If you pay to get a house built, and it doesn’t look anything like you wanted, you don’t blame the guy that held the hammer. Oh no. You blame the architect. That’s the problem with the cops, the ones that ain’t problems in and of themselves, they keep focusing on the guys with the hammers. Vigilantes too. All of ‘em need to be focusing on the architects.”  
Sean cut in, “Well now’s there that other guy too right? The preacher? He’s been focusing a lot on the white collar types.”  
“Right! Oh what’s his name?” Alan thought for a moment, “Thomas? I think its Father Thomas.”  
“A priest?” Deborah asked, “That’s the guy on par with Red Hood?”  
“Oh I don’t know if he’s really a priest, I ain’t never seen him at church on Sunday’s.” Alan replied, chuckling, “But he does wear those robes, what cha call em?”  
“Cassocks.” Sean helpfully supplied.  
“Cassocks! And he’s got a whole lotta folks around here listenin’. Always going on about the great boils of corruption in this city. He ain’t just words though, he’s been feeding and housing folks to. Problem is, he’s labeled Hood as just another part of the corruption, so his people and Hood’s people don’t get along great.”  
“Has it turned violent?”  
“Well, the good father has supposedly condemned violence, but his flock are passionate people, and there been some scuffs. Nothing too bad yet though.”  
Sean shook his head, “It’s only a matter of time.”  
Deborah took a pen and a small notebook out of her purse and quickly started taking short hand notes. Sean grinned down, “This good for your inspiration?”  
“A morally grey vigilante against a priest with social clout in the wake of a city wide disaster?” Deborah chuckled, “Yeah, it’s something.”  
“Do I get to be a character?” Alan asked grinning.  
“I’m sure the main character could use a helpful freelancer.”  
“A professional freelancer, important distinction. To many kids jump in and think they know what they’re doing, they ain’t helpful. They just make messes. What’s my name in this gonna be?”  
“What do you want it to be?”  
“Vincent.” He said with a slow wave of his hand, “I’ve always loved that name. Vincent.”  
“Sounds great.”  
Alan reached for his wallet to pay for his beer, but Deborah stopped him, pulling out her wallet.   
“Please let me, you’ve been so nice.”  
Alan grinned, “Well if you insist. You ladies gonna head home or do you wanna play a few rounds of pool?”  
Deborah took her credit card back from Sean and turned to Marie, “You up for some pool?”  
“Always.”   
Before they got up Deborah finally asked what she had wanted to know since Alan had sat down, “Why are you so, I don’t know, okay with talking about all this?”  
Alan just chuckled again and said, “Getting what I know in a book? That’s real neat. Besides, what are gonna do with it? Snitch to the police?”   
Alan laughed again and slapped a somewhat disturbed Deborah on the back before getting up, “Come on, you can break.”  
A few hours later Deborah and Marie left the bar, Alan’s number in their phone with instructions to call if she ever had more questions, needed some help in the East End, or “you know, other kinds of trouble.” He added that invitations to brunch would not be unwelcomed either. Snow had started to fall as they walked back to the train station.  
“Well, that was weird.” Marie finally said.  
“I thought Alan was nice.”  
“Oh absolutely, I just didn’t anyone there to be so open about what they did. I kinda hoped everyone was gonna be all scary and convince you that coming back would be a bad idea. I mean, I knew that Sean was alright, he’s known Gillian forever. Her first job was waitressing there. But I didn’t expect the clientele to be so… welcoming.”  
Deborah smiled at her, “It’s simple. People like to talk about themselves. Alan was just talking about his… office politics. People like to be listened to and be told that they’re interesting.”  
“I guess. He does seem pretty nice.”  
“Also definitely a sociopath.”  
“Oh for sure.”  
The two women laughed, leaving the Cauldron with significantly less anxiety than they had when they had arrived. That might not have been the case if they had known about the figure that lurked in the shadows, watching them with great interest.


End file.
